Dear Holly,
This poem pulled a gem from my memory. What else is new?
Many years ago, I was on a cra**y mail boat going from Jamaica to Trinidad. It stopped at various islands along the way.
We stopped for 3 days in St. Lucia. On the last day, I was perched precariously on a railing on top deck.
Around my neck was a Victorian Jet Locket. A friend I loved very much gave it to me. It was egg shaped and delicately carved. I wore it always.
It slipped from my neck, and fell into the Caribbean Sea, from whence it came. There were many sweet boys … 10 -16 years old on the docks. I cried out “my Jet Locket”, as it fell. Many saw it disappear into the salty waters. For about 2 hours the young boys dove into the sea, looking for my locket….the prize. I watched in amazement, as they could stay what seemed an eternity below, before they came up.
The Locket was not recovered, but I was young and vain enough to think they did it because I was beautiful, and they would like to win my heart. Later, I was told they did it for the reward money.
It was 2 hours to behold. The locket is gone, and I am eternally grateful for the experience.
Thank you for this amazing poem! xxoo

We say goodbye to a lot of people in our lives. My heart wasn’t strong enough to mourn the loss of everyone. Instead, I celebrated the fine memories they left me with and realized part of the love we give is wishing them a beautiful life or peace in eternity when they depart. Still, in secret, the awful pain of loss is a life altering agony.

I feel it is one of the fundamental necessities of life to experience those loses and not sequester one’s heart but to give and accept love from those worthy of it in spite of loss or the potential of loss. When we no longer fear the pain of loss, we no longer fear the mystery of life and that is when we truly begin to live. But, you already knew that.

Thank you Rene. I appreciate that you are so gracious to engage me on these thoughts that live in my head. I feel a kinship here. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out we are from the same ancient clan and at times have celebrated the change of seasons at the same communal fire. I’ve found that having mortal flesh and an immortal soul is not a bad thing when I meet people whose bloodlines are the same as my own. Souls tend to recognize each other even if the mind is unconvinced. Of course, true Floridians are beautiful souls and that might be enough. 😇😇

I wonder if our ancestors left their mark on the same cave walls in Wales or Ireland. Sorry I had to giggle at that. It takes true tenacity to make it through the massive hurricanes that have blown through Florida. You’re an inspiration Dan. I thank you so much for all the encouragement you’ve given me.

Ha ha haaa! I bet I even borrowed your charcoal stick to write with at least once. I’m sure you would have had all the best natural colors and I would be jealous of your collection but very happy you were my friend. 😁. We drew some nice pictures, didn’t we? Love the animal iconography you did.

I know. 😕 We never thought about signing our work. It was the thrill of creating something new and exciting. I suppose that is why all the copy cats in the other cave dwellings did the same thing. Now no one knows who did what. But we know. 😉

Yeppir Buddy, the vanguard of avant-garde. Too bad we didn’t have absinthe back then. Just think of the cave art we could have created. Perhaps we would have been the originators of the prehistoric impressionist era. I’d like to think we would have painted a selfie, creating the first fashion meme ever. 🤩🤣

Waa haaa haaa! This is how I create my novels. Now I have a vivid moment by moment vision of this scene unfolding. I’ll have to write it and publish it now. I see me in a dashing pair of wooly mammoth pants and woven hemp shirt with my faux beaver pelt hat made of stitched giant rodent hackles. But you, dear Rene, are wearing a tiger skirt with matching top and bird of paradise feather cap tipped back in a rebellious manner. When you laugh with your mischievous sweep of the brush, the tiger claw necklace chimes with a beat that keeps time with your painting rhythms. This is too good a moment and calls for more absinthe, which certainly will result in more exquisite paintings and a care free nature. I stop painting to investigate a glittering golden vein in the rock. Hmmmm I wonder if this gold stuff could be useful. Let’s give it a try. (This creates the first moment art, music, and dance becomes a part of the human story along with the deep fascination with gold and absinthe for creative souls.) can you see it? I think it makes a great short story.

I can only imagine how stunning we are. You in your hemp shirt ( can we smoke that later?)me in my tiger skins , the gold vein you’ve discovered, what can it be? This is a story that must be told. Oh look, a woolly mammoth.

OH MY! I think I just snort-laughed. 😆. Now, I can imagine needing to make a new shirt each week because we smoked the other ones. Hemp and absinthe, no wonder we’re creative geniuses. Whoa! That woolly mammoth is huge. We’re going to need a bigger cave. I wonder if sheep would be easier to manage. This is turning out to be an epic story.

Yes, yes, uh-huh! Bigger digs and now I can afford to change my shirt once a week instead of just wearing it until it disintegrates. Look, I’ve made you some hair beads with engraved runes and animals from this soft gold stuff. It really goes well with your hair and tiger skin outfit. I haven’t worked out all the details on this new alchemy thing but, I have some great ideas about how to turn clay into cups for our absinthe.

I’m so pleased you are in tune with my ideas regarding the bigger digs, most cave men would have a club in one hand and a handful of hair in the other, but rather you gathered beads from golden soft stuff, I must rush down to the pool of liquid and see myself, hopefully no woolly mammoth will spoil things. Clay cups, a brilliant idea.

Oh, but it pleases me that you are pleased. What reward is greater than the creative arts expressed so happily. And the hand with hair flowing in tight strands between the fingers has it’s place with those cave dwellers who desire it, but give me lengths of soft flax rope, from here to there ( he points) where the object of my binding art is the cavegirl with skin smooth as a river stone and soft as a teradactyl’s wings, her hair like flames in winter’s harsh grip. I would bind her in a cradle of rope suspended from the stalagtites as if posed in a leaping dance where time is suspended and she turns ever so slowly lost in her dreams and desires. What is that you say? Lay off the absinthe? Awww, my mind was just beginning to lose itself. Be careful by the liquid pool the wooleys can’t see you well and they step carelessly. Shall I go too to keep them away? Let me get my club and I’ll be right with you.

Suspended in a cradle of rope from stalactites? I’m going to need a bit more absinthe and anothe hemp
Shirt to pull that off but one must adapt to cave life. Thank you for the offer and the necklace of runes.

I think the liquid pool will please you. Shall we go? On the way there are many sparkling green rocks stuck in the cliff face. I want to harvest some of them. I have an idea the stones would look amazing set in the golden stuff. I think I’ll make a sabertooth from the gold and use the stones for eyes…this cave art life is such fun, don’t you think?

I’m glad we left the cave of allegory, that was creepy. Those green shiny things, I wouldn’t mind having an stringy piece of that gold rock with those on my ankle, do you think the woolly mammoth would come for it? Cave life is hard.

It does feel better out in the open air. My head is clearing a little. That absinthe, whew! Remind me not drink straight from the well. I think the gold and green stones would look fabulous around your ankles. I’m sure the wooley mammoth will want to investigate what sparkles so by the liquid pool.

It was quite fun Rene! Thank you for playing along, you are a natural. The conversation went smooth and stayed on track until our caveman had a bit too much absinthe, but that’s what it’s for, to stoke the creative fire. I’ll definitely have to put a short one post story together and link back to River Worn where readers can see how it all started. Great job, thank you, and high five! 🖐🏼

Speaking of fire they showed a max speed of 35,000 Kph and they could go a lot faster but the satellite couldn’t handle the dynamic forces so they just cruised along. Jeez. My nerdy heart loves this stuff.

My boss was the director for space exploration and many of his dreams are flying through space right now finding new planets and mapping our galaxy. We are learning breathtaking things we never knew before and blowing the old notion we are alone and earth is the only inhabitable planet out the window in a big way. The new wild west is beyond the stars and there is plenty of room.

I wouldn’t mind being a pioneer on another planet or a member of a colony as long as it was a friendly place with good zen and a benevolent karma. It would be fun until it got overun by tourists and empty plastic mai tai cups.

What a dream come true if we became genuine good stewards of our natural world. We did mount a great campaign to turn back pollution and littering in the 60’s and 70’s but our self aggrandized and entitled inhabitants of today see no reason to show any consideration to Mother Nature or to their fellow humans. But, Mother Nature moves in slow universe time and shedding herself of living things will happen on her schedule, not ours. Her make overs come when she wills. There is one lesson I have learned in the many environments of this angry blue planet, Mother Nature is at once beautiful and merciless.

Mother is true karma. You get what you give. To love nature is to love yourself and the life you wish to live. To mistreat her or ignore her nature is a straight path to her wrath. That is an incredibly painful and well deserved spanking for being naughty.

Each poem or prose-poetry of yours is really fascinating, Holly. Your imagery is simply gorgeous. The beginning of this poem is already very powerful with the image of the river and the “gem beaten to the silt”. Also, I love the idea of the “refined diamond” you hold in your hands and hone. There is an anguished passion in this piece I like very much. ❤